


kitty genovese died a virgin

by triplestar



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Emotional Baggage, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No Underage Sex, Not Actually In Screenplay Format, Spoilers, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11266047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplestar/pseuds/triplestar
Summary: Where are Crow and Skull?INTERIOR, SIXTH PALACE, NIGHT.Ryuji Sakamoto has his back to the wall of a closet. His hands are on Goro Akechi's waist, and there is a gun in Akechi's right pocket. He's sweating. His mask is off. Close in, and we see him go for the lips.





	kitty genovese died a virgin

“Kiss me,” Akechi says. He’s smiling like he does on television, that emotionless upward curve that looks best on camera when the floodlights hit him just right. Pose, expression, tone of voice; it’s all so calculated, so approachable. No wonder the networks can’t get enough.

This media darling, he looks just as telegenic in white-and-gold battle gear as he does in a tailored suit. Ryuji thinks he was made for the screen. Close-up on Akechi’s face as Ryuji takes off his mask; pan down to a gloved hand holding Ryuji by the waist. Seriously, the optics on this are _so_ good. Black leather against white linen, gold accents and cold steel details.

Ryuji gropes blindly for Akechi’s free hand, lacing their fingers together like he’s afraid he’ll get lost. It’s too dark to tell if he’s meeting Akechi’s eyes like he wants to, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. It’s stupid. A heart like he’s got can’t help but be worn on the sleeve.

“Don’t worry,” Akechi assures him, probably wondering why their lips haven’t touched. “No one’s going to look for us here. We can take our time if you want.”

Where they are is a pointless little closet somewhere in Sae’s grand casino, two hallways and ten dozen turns from the door. Shadows don’t do this... kind of thing, so Ryuji’s guessing it’s never been used. Probably never been opened at all. It’s the kind of place people people go to hook up in grainy low-budget pornos, the type marked as ‘“AMATEUR” so no one expects all that much. This isn’t that kind of deal, thank god; they’re both too young and Ryuji’s not all that pretty and “ten minutes of awkward silence” ain’t gonna pull in the views.

“I dunno about this,” Ryuji mutters. Akechi sighs, as close to a verbal eye-roll as a person can possibly get.

“Come on,” he says. “You’re really getting cold feet when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me earlier? I thought you liked me, Sakamoto.” There’s this awkward little laugh to his voice, like he’s playing off nerves with informality. “You do want this, don’t you?”

If Ryuji’s being honest, then yeah, he does. If he’s telling it straight, the TV station is where this all started. Pushing Akechi against some nondescript wall and kissing him hard, seeing if there’s any _passion_ beneath that perfect TV personality; the school trip’s gotta be where those daydreams took off.

If he’s being realistic, there’s no way that kissing Akechi won’t make him feel sick.

“Sorry.” Sweat beads where his mask usually hides it. His fingers are spaghetti and Akechi’s are steel and _god_ , he’s _gotta_ get better at lying. “It’s not you, it’s just… look, I’ve never done this sorta shit with a guy, okay? Maybe I’m gettin’ cold feet.” There; that’s close enough to the truth.

Akechi’s free hand, his slender pianist fingers, Ryuji feels something like that untying and taking his scarf. “In that case,” Akechi murmurs, “do you mind if I take the lead?”

Ryuji swallows whatever’s been stuck in his throat. Dramatic irony, that’s what this is; the twisted humor of him knowing why Akechi wants this so bad, the in-joke that only Akechi won’t get. Liars, both of them. In this way they’re perfectly matched. “Go ahead,” he tells Akechi. “Might as well use the time we’ve got.”

The way Akechi kisses, Ryuji wonders if he’s new to this too. He’s hesitant, sloppy. He could use a layer of chapstick. His lips don’t have half the poise that his interviews usually show. And he’s nervous, right? It’s just so fucking _human_. How’s Ryuji meant to beat back sympathy when this guy’s just the same as him? Scared kids necking behind closed doors, that’s all that this really is.

No one’s frenching; they know their limits, but Ryuji swears he tastes some tongue. There’s a thousand teenage fangirls that would kill to be here in his shoes. Akechi’s breath hot on their lips, Akechi’s hands inches from cupping their ass. Sorry, but he doesn’t appreciate it as that kind of miracle. Even then, though, it's got his heart thumping. To save face he can blame it on guilt.

“D’you think they’ve noticed?” asks Ryuji. “Us being gone, I mean.”

Akechi just gives him the same TV smile. Maybe that’s being considerate.

Thing is, Ryuji’s _not_ sure that they’ve noticed. He’s not even sure they’d come looking. Get it together, right, Skull? Can’t you _ever_ pull your own weight? He’s not gonna dwell on it, but his friends act nicer with the guy that’s plotting their deaths than with him — or at least there they keep their mouths shut. With him it’s _you’re hopeless, you screwup;_ always him as the butt of some joke.

“Are you worried?” If Akechi can’t read minds, then he’s sure good at faking it. “Well, I can’t offer you much reassurance. Your friends are even more of a mystery to me than I suppose they must be to you.” He loops his arms around Ryuji’s broad shoulders, smiling less for the cameras and a little bit more for real. “I’m here, though. You’ve got me.”

_Liar._

Akechi leans forward and pushes Ryuji’s back to the never-cleaned wall, pressed up close like he’s starved for warmth. “My father would hate to see me like this,” he laughs. It’s a confession, sort of; an admission of ‘guilty’ to alleged daddy issues. The soft swell of his chest, physically distinct with their bodies so close; that too is a secret revealed. Proof that Akechi trusts him. And of course he doesn’t deserve it.

“You’re—”

Akechi laughs, high and strained.

“ _Don’t,_ Sakamoto. We’ve only got some much time here, and I would hate to waste it. Save those questions for later, alright?” They’re on the clock, yeah, but Ryuji hadn’t realized how bad Akechi was rushing until something tugs at his belt.

Ryuji freezes. He knows Akechi’s impatient; that they won’t be getting a second chance at this kind of thing, but what the fuck does he _say_ if it’s time for him to tap out? _Sorry, but you’re about to betray us and that’s kind of a turn-off; sorry, but I’m not ready for this and neither are you —_ nothing sounds right when he tries to sort out the words. Hands clammy with sweat, he grabs Akechi by the wrist and shakes his head — just once.

“We don’t gotta go that far.”

Akechi stops.

His hands drop to his sides and his gaze shifts down, away from Ryuji and his searching stare. “Sorry,” he says, and it’s awful to see through his mask. “I thought—”

“Dude, I’m not mad.”

_LIAR._

There’s enough confusion to work through without Akira’s maybe-fate at the forefront of his mind, so Ryuji shoves it way down, back to where it belongs under layers of subconscious bullshit. Does he hate Akechi? Shit, maybe. Dead Greek dudes — Roman,  could be — famous philosophers he doesn’t remember used to think love and hate were the same kind of thing. A thumping heartbeat, face red from _something_ , sweaty palms and a shot of adrenaline; he sees where the comparisons could figure in.

Ryuji lifts his hands to cup Akechi’s face, and there’s a split-second pause where he could almost go for the throat.

He doesn’t. God help him for that dumb fucking move.

Akechi hiccups, a harsh jolt against Ryuji’s palms. There’s no tears, but his breaths come ragged, the way Ryuji used to sound when he ran. “Drop it, Sakamoto.” The TV smile is long gone. “You don’t have to bother with letting me down easy.”

Weird thing to say when Ryuji’s saliva is still clinging wet to his lips.

“This ain’t a rejection, okay?” Ryuji assures him. “Just… like you said, cold feet and all that. Maybe I’m not ready for that sorta thing.”

“You’ll never be,” Akechi snaps. “Don’t pretend like this is going to happen again.”

“...Isn’t it?”

The goddamn _sneer_  Akechi gives him right then. If looks could kill, this one would be a slow but painful demise.

“ _Please_ don’t play dumb, Sakamoto.” Desperation overwhelms Akechi's vocal inflections, twisting his voice past recognition. “You’re the only one who saw through me, don’t you see that? You _understood_ me — the others would have disposed of me on the spot. But you—” Akechi’s close now, too close; he’s grabbed each side of Ryuji’s high collar and Ryuji swears that his knuckles look white— ”You must have seen that I had my reasons. You _let me go_. I promise, I won’t ever forget that.”

That thing Ryuji said, the part where he wanted to see Akechi without the TV persona? This here is his reward. Karma extending a monkey’s paw with the first finger curled down, defying him to say he regrets it.

“How did you…” Choosing his words carefully, that’s what takes Ryuji so long. Thinking each phrase over before anything crosses his tongue. “ _When_ did you figure me out?”

Like he doesn’t already get it. He doesn’t need to hear it out loud to know that he’s easy to read; there’s bad actors like Ann and her stilted accents, and there’s him, spouting off secrets he’s forgotten to hide. Jaw swinging like the windup for a home-run pitch. _Another win for the Phantom Thieves_ — stupid, thinking he could mask whatever this is when he can’t even keep a name off his tongue. Akechi just saw what was in front of his nose.

“I always knew,” Akechi says. Against Ryuji, he’s trembling. “From the first time we met, I knew. We’re the _same_ , Sakamoto. You and me, we should have been on the same side.” His grip tightens. He pulls Ryuji closer by the hems of his popped collar. “Between the two of us, I’d have liked things a lot better that way.”

Ryuji kisses him. It’s part pity and part temptation and part violent, heart-pounding hate; none of that’s a proper excuse. Akechi’s a traitor and Akechi wants them all dead and Akechi has the ugliest, fakest smile Ryuji’s ever had the misfortune of seeing and _fuck,_ he hopes he can see it again. There’s a gun meant for Akira somewhere inches away and the way his heart’s fluttering is still somehow worse. He can’t help it. That’s no consolation. Akechi is more passionate with all the cards on the table.

He pulls back, and the kiss is over.

“What’s it mean when you say we’re the same?” 

“We’re lonely,” Akechi says. His breath is hot on Ryuji's neck. “We’re looking for something to hurt. You’ve got the Shadows and that’s all well and good, but can you blame me for hunting bigger game?”

This worthless liar, of course he picks now to start telling the truth. It’s the perfect time for a dramatic reveal. Picture this; the music cuts and the camera zooms tight, the kind of close-up where you can see actors sweat. Ryuji’s lips fill the screen. Opening, closing, working to shape a response. It’s the way people act when they know they’ve been caught, the last spasms of denial before the curtain drops.

“I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

_BULLSHIT._

And Akechi knows it is. The look he’s giving Ryuji, it’s the same way the track team stares when their precious traitor’s gone and snapped once again; the same simpering eyes and ‘told you so’ frown — does Akechi, know, somehow? Can Akechi sense how tightly he’s wound? Snakes twist together for warmth when the weather goes cold — maybe a storm’s on its way and Ryuji just hasn’t caught wise.

Maybe Kamoshida should be thankful that Ryuji’s fangs weren’t as well sharpened as Akechi’s cold little gun.

Akechi’s gloved hands slide south. “I thought you swung first,” he breathes, and with how fiercely Ryuji recoils, you’d think he was speaking in bullets. _Fucking get it together, Skull —_ fine, great, but it’s too late for that. The distance between them might as well be a canyon. Akechi might as well be cut stone.

A pink stain blooms on Akechi’s right cheek, and Ryuji notices that his left palm is stinging.

“You hate me,” Akechi says. Soft and incredulous, like this came as a shock. His fingers graze the tender patch of his skin — he winces, fullbody. It hurts Ryuji just to watch.

“I’m sorry—”

“You. Fucking. _LIAR._ ” Akechi’s words come in angry gasps. Blood wells up where he clutches his skin, nails dug in far enough to ruin a manicure. “You’re not mad? You don’t want to hurt anyone? What a joke! And to think, I almost fell for your stupid act!” His fingers close around Ryuji’s throat, still warm where their hands were once linked.

“I understand now,” he says. The heels of his palms are hard on Ryuji’s esophagus. “You were using me, right? You thought you could talk me out of my mission, save your perfect leader— but you’ve got no idea what this means to me. _None_ . You can’t even _imagine_ how I feel.” He punctuates each sentence with a hard press down.

Black dots cloud Ryuji’s vision. He thinks, dimly, that Akechi underestimated how much they were alike. “No,” he gasps — gurgles, really; he’s not aiming for perfect diction with his throat compressed like it is.

Akechi lets go. His eyes narrow like his lips go thin, all of him tense and awaiting reprisal. More _Survivor_ than daytime talk. Right now, Ryuji gets why poisonous frogs prefer to be beautiful. Stay away. Look but don’t touch. Akechi oozes malice like models sweat sex appeal.

“I…” Choosing his words carefully, that’s what gives Ryuji such pause. Rolling the words around in his head before he lets anything leave his mouth.

“You’re right,” he finally concedes. “We’re the same. Problem is, I ain’t all that fond of myself, which means I ain’t fond of you either.”

“You _kissed_ me,” Akechi snarls.

“Yeah, and I’d probably do that again.”

Even Achilles had his weak spot. Ryuji knows this: people lonely and wanting to hurt, they never expect that other people will care, that someone might want them around. Winter is over and they’re winding apart, but Akechi’s fangs still feel stuck in his chest. Odds are, that feeling is going both ways. So. He’ll bite.

“Look,” Ryuji says. “Whatever you’re plannin’ here, I’m not gonna stop you. Secret’s safe and all that. But I wanna see you. Once this is over, I mean.”

Akechi scans Ryuji for tells. “You’re joking.” Deadpan, unamused.

“Nonono, I swear, I’m serious! I hate your guts, dude, but…” He sighs, hands up in a sign of surrender. It’s fitting, right? A pirate hoisting the ship’s white flag, giving in to law and order. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ll help you out — i-in the real world! Not like, here. Masks on, we’re enemies. ...That could be fun, right?”

It’s a compromise. With himself, not with Akechi, though he sure as hell can dream. _Isn’t this selfish?_ a part of him asks. _Are you so desperate for friends that you’d suck the cock of a killer? Is this what you call rebellion?_ Kidd’s voice in his head. Bones rattling and old sails creaking in the wind. _Fuck off,_ he thinks. _No wonder you ain’t the one with a heart._

Ryuji sticks his hand out, and waits for Akechi to take it.

“And if I kill him?” Akechi asks.

Ryuji shrugs. “You won’t. It’s him we’re talkin’ about.”

Akechi laughs — a harsh, real laugh, the type that boom mics distort. This here, it’s exclusive footage. Filmed special for this one-time station. Never before caught on camera, on account of how ugly it looks when an actor this handsome actually _feels_. “He doesn’t deserve you,” Akechi says dryly, and shakes Ryuji’s hand.

 

* * *

 

Makoto says it’s called the bystander effect. Years ago in America, some poor woman got stabbed in front of a crowd that did nothing, bled out waiting to be saved. Thirty-eight witnesses, and none of them intervened. It was this big media tragedy. The kind that corners the market on real estate for every paper’s front page.

They studied that incident for a long time, she says, psychologists and scientists alike. Ran simulations, interviewed witnesses, the full academic nine yards. They decided it was herd mentality in the end. The audience all thinks ‘how awful,’ but not one among them steps in. No one gets to be a hero, because no one gets out of line.

“It’s like that,” Makoto says. “We all saw it coming, but… the only thing we could do by then was watch.”

If he goes back to freshman year, Ryuji’s short distance record is 11.02 seconds. One hundred meters, for clarity’s sake. Maybe his leg’s bust; maybe he won’t ever be good like that again — but there’s still potential, somewhere. The Metaverse has given him proof. How he flew up that ship, swear to god, that was almost him soaring. A hundred slippery, acute-angled meters cleared in a matter of seconds.

Go back to the depths of the brig. Dry ground, flat surface, right?

Right.

Akechi was ten feet away.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title Context:** On March 13, 1964, Kitty Genovese was stabbed to death in front of a sizable and tragically indifferent crowd. The circumstances of her death prompted inquiries into the phenomenon known as the bystander effect, also known as Genovese Syndrome. You can read more about her [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_Kitty_Genovese). I have no idea if she actually died a virgin. The accused claims artistic license, your honor. 
> 
> (minecraft youtuber voice) remember to like comment and subscribe or maybe just rec this somewhere; rarepair life is hard, please throw this humble clown a bone


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